On the Rocks
by LiquoriceLaw
Summary: Snippy encounters the gift of Bacchus, by which "suffering mankind forgets its grief". Only not.


The engineer returned to a half-house that felt entirely empty, and unusually quite; there was no singing, no arguing and no voice issuing imperious orders to be heard.

"Captain? Charles?" He looked around one of the few standing walls. "Pilot?"

Pilot was lying on his stomach in the centre of the floor. He had removed the carpet surrounding him for a considerable radius and was adorning the floorboards with chalk drawings, singing in a disjointed fashion and talking to himself under his breath.

"What's going on? Where is everyone?"

"Snippy's sick," declared Pilot, looking torn between being happy at this state of affairs and annoyed that it was attracting so much attention; "Captain's fixing him."

_That_ couldn't be good.

"He's probably just trying to get off work," Alexander said scornfully, but he felt a cold weight in the pit of his stomach. They avoided radiation and contaminated food as best they could, but really it was only a matter of time… and it had to be Charles who was first affected, the one who was best at finding food, the one who could shoot. For a horrible moment he contemplated being left alone with only Pilot and Captain. He would go as mad as them. Or he would have to take over Charles' missions - venturing out into the wasteland with inane and dangerous objectives - he wouldn't last a day…

"Where is he?" he demanded, walking past Pilot through the remnants of a doorway. The room where they currently slept lay beyond, but it was empty.

"In the Dead Zone."

"In the – _why?_"

Pilot shrugged, "He's acting crazy."

It was a grim state of affairs when Pilot was making this pronouncement.

"Come on then."

As they reached the old city barriers he heard voices – shouting, in fact, and then shots. Growing increasingly alarmed, he increased his pace to a near run.

The first thing he saw when he came out into the open was the Captain, waving his mug and pointing and looking distinctly angry. The sniper stood facing him, leaning on his rifle and swaying dangerously.

"You're not a Captain! NOT A CAPTAIN! Captain's a mil'tary rank, Gromov can't MAKE people Captains."

"MR SNIPPY! THIS INSUBORDINATION IS MOST UNWISE. FURTHER MISDEMEANOURING WILL NOT BE TOLERATED."

"Captain." Alexander stepped forwards "Pilot said Charles was ill, I think I should take a look at him."

The Captain ignored him, marching over to the sniper and grasping him by his arm.

"Captain!" the engineer protested, following him. Behind him Pilot cheered.

"Let GO!" The sniper raised a hand to fend him off and swiped at his hat, missing by several inches. The Captain slapped him.

"YOU WILL BE PUNISHED FOR YOUR TRUCULENCE, MR SNIPPY. BUT FIRST YOU WILL COMPLETE THE MISSION YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED."

"I'm busy."

"Captain, let me talk to him. I really don't think he's well."

The Captain looked down at his subordinate, who was now rolling his head around in circles and mumbling. Abruptly he let him fall and strode off, back towards the city.

Snippy lay on his back for a few moments, then staggered upright and looked around for his rifle. Retrieving it, he brought the sights up to his eye and began describing an unsteady circle with the muzzle.

Alexander started backwards as it came around to face him.

"Watch where you're pointing that!"

Snippy kept turning, scanning the wasteland in a full circle and taking the odd shot at far-off pieces of rubble and dead shrubs.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to keep watch. There's mutants. And … monsters."

"What are you talking about?" Alexander followed his gaze, scrutinising the wilderness. "There's nothing out there."

"There's one right there!" A distant road sign exploded and the sniper whooped.

Pilot hopped up to them. "Snippy snapped!" he said with glee. He began dancing around the sniper and waving his hands in his face. Snippy reeled back, alarmed. "Snip snap snipe. Snup snap snip snip -"

"Get out of here, Pilot." Alexander pushed him away. He wandered back to the city, still chanting.

The engineer reached out to Snippy and took his rifle. He didn't resist and stood slightly dazed. Alexander hated to admit it, but it looked like Pilot was right

The sniper wasn't wearing his mask or goggles – worrying in itself, since he was usually as conscious as any of them of the risks of radiation poisoning. His skin was ashen. He didn't seem capable of growing an actual beard, but he somehow looked more unshaven than usual. He turned around incessantly, watching the landscape and muttering.

"Проклятие… Charles!" His eyes were sunken and bloodshot and focussed with difficulty.

"What…"

"You're sick. I need to figure out what's wrong with you. Have you eaten anything that might have been contaminated?"

"I haven't eaten _anything._" He flung his arm out to emphasise the complete lack of things he had eaten. "I j's' drank some of that funny tasting water."

"Funny tasting..?" No. He couldn't have. He would never be that stupid… "You drank radiated water?"

"No!" the sniper looked horrified, "I'w's fine! I checked with the – the-" he furrowed his eyebrows and outlined a vague square in the air with one hand, holding an invisible cylinder in the other.

"The Geiger counter?"

"Yeah." He went back to scanning the horizon for danger.

Alexander thought. The group shared water, so why had no one else been affected? Unless – the previous cache had been getting low – perhaps Charles had taken a fresh bottle from the box Alexander had recovered from his old bunker a few days ago. Except that there hadn't been any water in it, only -

Suddenly suspicious, Alexander moved closer to the sniper and pulled his respirator away from his face just long enough to breathe in. He inhaled a familiar smell and replaced his mask, feeling in equal parts angry and relieved.

"Did the water taste like _vodka_, by any chance?"

The sniper swayed, frowning at him. He opened his mouth to reply, and then collapsed instead.

"Oh for Christ's sake… come on." Alexander awkwardly dragged him half-upright and tried not to think of all formulae he had memorised regarding force, mass, weight and inertia, all for the express purpose of not having to lift heavy objects for a living.

"Y'know that coat makes you look like a girl, right?"

It was going to be a long walk.

"Uggh." Snippy announced, massaging his temples.

"I'm not surprised. You drank a whole bottle. Neat. Where I'm from that would make you a hero or something."

"Bwah." said Snippy regretfully.

"You seriously didn't realise it was alcohol? Didn't you recognise the taste?"

"Like I could ever afford alcohol." He looked up, blearily. "Know any good hangover cures?"

The engineer handed him a can of water – actual water this time. "Why is it that I always have to play nurse?"

"You're the scientist."

"I'm a physicist, not a physician. I mean, yes, I probably know more about medicine than any of you, but that's not saying a great deal." He paused, considering the sniper's condition and decided he would have to be more direct with his insults. He elaborated, "Because you people don't know anything. About anything. At all."

"I think you just answered your own question. But actually I was asking because – you know. Russian."

"Oh. In that case, my uncle always swore by rassol."

"What?"

"Sauerkraut brine."

"Euch!" Snippy grimaced. Then he blinked. "We don't have any sauerkraut."

"A lot of people take more vodka."

He snorted. "_That_ makes sense. I think I'll stick with coffee. Do we have any?"

"Yes. I'll make a fire."

"Gromov - " He hesitated, looking at his hands, and asked with some trepidation – "What did I do, exactly?"

The engineer sat on the edge of the table and made himself comfortable. This was the only part of the episode he actually looked forward to; the coffee could wait. "You did lots of things. You shouted a lot. You shot several innocent rocks. You called Captain a fraud – he's not happy, by the way – and I'm fairly sure you were crying at one point on the way here."

Snippy shrugged and made a "meh" noise, dismissing the list. "That sounds like Pilot most days. Except for the part about Captain, of course. But then I'm never the most obedient minion."

"No, but this time you were – I don't know, different. Angrier. You wouldn't let it go. I actually think you kind of hurt his feelings."

"He has feelings? How come he gets to have feelings?"

"Because… Captain."

They were quiet for a moment, considering the implications of this powerful if grammatically incorrect aphorism.

"What was his mission for you, anyway? The one that was less important than shooting at rocks?"

"He wanted -" Snippy stopped and frowned, thinking through fog. "I think… he wanted me to look for water."

There was another silence.

"One might call that ironic, if one were so inclined," observed the engineer.

"Might one?" asked Snippy bluntly. "Seems pretty standard to me."

More silence.

"Did I mention your coat?"

"It did come up, yes."

Another pause.

"It's the fur."

"I gathered."

Finally Snippy stood. "Well, I'd better look for some water. And apologise to the Captain, I suppose. That'll be fun."

He turned and walked straight into a solid grey mass. Stumbling back, he met the Captain's purple gaze.

"MR SNIPPY."

"Captain. Look, I was just -"

"ARE YOU FEELING BETTER?"

Snippy glanced at the engineer who was surreptitiously fiddling with his fur collar.

"Yes, much better. And I'm sorry I – got a little out of order back there."

"YOU WERE MOST OUT OF ORDER."

The sniper looked at the floor, wondering what the punishment would be. He might be feeling better than he had earlier, but he really didn't have the coordination to escape a death-match with Photoshop in one piece right now.

"YOU HAD BETTER FIND US ZEE WETTEST, THIRST-QUENCHINGEST WATER TO BE HAD."

That… didn't make a lot of sense, but it sounded like he was getting off lightly.

He set off into the ruined city, head still pounding and mouth feeling like sandpaper.

And he never did get any coffee.


End file.
